ART & MULTIMEDIA

A multilayered collage that appears like a school book where somebody stuck a finger through its pages and left a deep hole. Contains an image of Kirsten Dunst in the movie The Virgin Suicides

From Lehrte to Berlin: The Need for a Poetics of Puberty

The feeling that stayed with me after finishing Kleinstadtnovelle was not that puberty itself is the problem, but the hostile conditions in which it is supposed to happen.

This image features D'orjay as a baby. They wear a cowboy hats and dungarees.

In Spirit of The Adolescent: D’orjay The Singing Shaman On Spiritual Reintegration & Aid.

It was in 2020 when D’orjay, debuting Shit My Shaman Says: Volume I, a work Axe Pulse agnate in its anti-linear subversiveness, first came upon my newsfeed.

Daniela can be seen holding a microphone and paper. She is knee deep in water, reading. Her outfit is dark blue, light blue, and brown gauzy material floating on the water.

COVEN BERLIN reads the YEAR OF THE BOG on the Beach – THE PHOTOS

COVEN hosted this beautiful reading in the summer of 2022 on the beach with authors Zinzi Buchanan, Inky Lee, Daniela Medina Poch, and Meghna Singh. We selected their articles as…

A collage of two photos of the moon against a blue background.

Looking at the moon, twice

Gabriela Gordillo is an artist, born in Mexico City and living and working since 2015 in Linz, Austria. In this piece, she reflects on the work that her father has undertaken for many years, since her adolescence — taking photographs of the moon — and juxtaposes it with her thoughts about Minute/Year, a durational sound-based installation artwork by Kata Kovács and Tom O’Doherty.

It is a small swamp in Grunewald on a sunny day. The picture was taken from slightly above. There is an area covered with the thick high grass in the middle of the image. One can distinguish separate plants on the first plan. Behind this area, more to the upper right and left corners of the image are green deciduous trees.

Unmeasurable Falling

The first time I stepped into marsh water was when I was about 7. One of the first sunny days in early May. My friend’s family took me along with them to the reservoir. We were all neighbors living in the same street on the outskirts, and in the summer all the kids were biking there quite often. But at that time we probably were yet too young to go there by ourselves.

The End is Not an Option: Carrier Bags and the Rhythm of the Bog

I’ve spent a lot of the last years in bogland – literal and metaphysical. For six years I obsessively returned to a river in Lancashire, (U.K.). I spent most of my time on top of the peat fells (big swathes of high altitude, boggy moorland with flat tops), looking for the source of small rivers that swell out of the wetland and spill down the cracks they make in the hillsides.